Donald Pollock - The Heavenly Table

Talk of the young man living with the Fiddlers began to die down after a couple of weeks, but then, after someone saw him and Ellsworth one Saturday at an auction in Bainbridge buying six Holsteins and a bull, it started up again for a while. Since it was common knowledge that Ells didn’t have two nickels to rub together, it was speculated that maybe Junior had been left a little inheritance. But that was as far as it went. By that time, Parker had repeated the story so much that he’d convinced himself it was true, and nobody else ever really wondered about the boy’s past or begrudged the farmer a few cattle for taking him in. There were, after all, new rumors every other day about the devastation being brought on by the Spanish influenza. And, too, as many pointed out whenever the subject did come up, maybe old Ells deserved some luck after losing his savings to that thief down in Pike County, and his son running off and never coming back, although everyone did agree that it was terrible the way he fell into it.

As for Cob, except when he was around Ellsworth and Eula, he kept his mouth shut. Every morning when the first cow bawled in the feedlot, he hopped out of bed and put on his clothes, headed for the barn. He liked taking care of the milking by himself. It gave him time to think about what he was going to do. It bothered him something awful, trying to decide. Every time he imagined Cane coming for him, he felt half sick, and then he’d feel guilty. But the fact of the matter was he loved it here, and he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving, even with his brother. For close to two years, he agonized over it, and then one morning, as he rinsed out a bucket at the well, he realized that Cane had already made the decision for him, and was all right with letting him stay.

He’d always be finished with the milking by the time Ellsworth showed up, scratching and yawning. The old man would help him pour it through the strainer and into the metal containers they used to haul it over to Parker’s, and by the time they finished, Eula would be calling them to the house for breakfast. Then they would work in the fields some; and in the afternoon, they’d take the milk over to the store in the wagon, singing “The Old Brown Nag” seven or eight times before they got there.

After he carried the containers inside, Junior would hand Parker a dime for a soda pop and a cake and go out to the porch. Owning some cattle and a little business had given Ellsworth a boost of confidence he’d never had in the past, and he would often spend an hour or more talking inside. Of course, Junior didn’t mind waiting. He didn’t mind anything. It didn’t matter to him that the pop was warm, or the cake stale. He’d eaten a lot worse than that in his life. And who could ever find fault with sitting on his ass listening through the screen to some old men tell jokes and argue over the price of crops, or why anyone would ever want a telephone? Not him. Because he knew, with a certainty he’d never known before in his life, that no matter what was being discussed, eventually Ellsworth would come out the door and say, “Hey Junior, let’s head home.” And that’s exactly where they would go. Home.

I wish to thank the following: First and foremost, local Ross County historian Rami Yoakum, for all the talks we had about Camp Sherman and Chillicothe during 1917 (sorry I didn’t stick with the facts, brother!); the Guggenheim Foundation, for helping keep food on the table; my agents and first readers, Richard Pine and Nathanial Jacks, for knowing just what to say; and my editors, Gerry Howard of Doubleday and Francis Geffard of Albin Michel, for all their advice, patience, and wisdom. Oh, and Dr. Ron Salomone, for riding my ass to finish the damn thing.

Donald Ray Pollock is the author of the acclaimed novel The Devil All the Time and the story collection Knockemstiff, and the recipient of the 2009 PEN/Robert W. Bingham Fellowship. He worked as a laborer at the Mead Paper Mill in Chillicothe, Ohio, from 1973 to 2005. He holds an MFA from Ohio State University.